


Martin meets John

by AellaD



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Cabin Pressure - Freeform, Cabinlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 10,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AellaD/pseuds/AellaD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Crieff is looking for a cheap place to live. It just so happens that John Watson is looking for a flatmate. Critiques and reviews welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither Cabin Pressure (which is created by John Finnemore) or Sherlock (the tv series which was created by Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss, and the series of mystery novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.)

Seeking flatmate to share rent. Two bedroom, two bathroom, one kitchen, one living-room, flat. The address is 221B Baker Street. Located next to Speedy's cafe. Landlady is a sweet older woman named Mrs. Hudson. No smokers need apply. If interested, contact Dr. John H. Watson. More information can be located at my blog at http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/. 

Captain Martin Crieff was tired of living in the attic, above college students. Well, it was more that they grew tired of him. Semantics, really. But he was now homeless with no place to go. Renters wouldn't take him because of his lack of funds. A Man with a Van wasn't enough to pay what they were asking. There was only one more place left circled on the newspaper that he was carrying under his arm. Dr. Watson seemed nice enough on the phone. Hopefully this meeting would go well, though considering his luck... His thoughts were interupted when the door of 221B Baker Street swung open. "Hello, you must be Martin Crieff." "Captain Martin Crieff," automatically corrected Martin. "I mean...Martin Crieff! You can call me Martin Crieff. Or just Martin. Or Marty," stammered Martin nervously. 'Oh no! Now I'm going to be stuck with Marty,' thought Martin. 'Quick say something!' "Although Martin's fine! " 'Great now he's going to think I'm an idiot.'

"Well, Martin. I'm Dr. Watson, but you can call me John. Why don't you come in?" suggested John as he made way for Martin to enter. "So, here it is," said John when the pair entered the living room. "The kitchen's right over there. I sleep in the upstairs bedroom. Your room would be right through that hallway. So, what do you think so far?"

"It's perfect. It's much larger than the last place that I previously lived."

"That's great," replied John. "So any questions, concerns?" 

"Well, it's just that, I don't have a lot of money. I mean it's not that I don't have any. It's just that I make...a considerably small amount."

"Oh! I thought that you said you were an airline pilot?"

"I am! I just don't get paid for it. I mean, I  can do other things for you." John raised an eyebrow at this. "Oh god! I didn't mean like that! Sorry! That came out all wrong. Not that you aren't an attractive man...I mean! I can help around the flat cleaning things up and if you ever need a ride to an exotic location, then I can take you there-as long as the place you wanted to go was the destination that I was already heading towards. "

 

"Martin, I'm going to need you to calm down." At this, Martin took a breath. "It's alright. That sounds like a good deal. As long as you help around the flat, I think that might work." With that Martin let out a sigh of relief. "Deal?" asked John holding out his hand. "Deal," agreed Martin taking John's hand into a firm handshake. He ignored the warmth coming from it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Hello Douglas," greeted Martin.

"You're in a good mood. That's...annoying," remarked Douglas.

"Really?"

"It's like having another Arthur onboard. I take it that you've found a place then?"

"Yes. It's got a lovely kitchen, a lovely livingroom, a lovely landlady, and a flatmate who's..." "Let me guess, lovely?" interrupted Douglas. 

"If you must know, yes. He is."

"As much as I enjoy talking about your personal life... Oh wait, I don't."

" Oh, that's brilliant Skip!" commented Arthur. "What's he like?"

"Well, Arthur, I'm glad you've asked. He's a doctor."

"That's brilliant!"

"Yes, he is. And he's nice. He's shorter than me."

"So, you're living with a hobbit, I take it?" said Douglas sarcastically.

"He's smart," complimented Martin, ignoring Douglas. "And has a great humor."

"Knowing you, there must be something wrong with him. What is it?" inquired Douglas.

"I'll have you know that he's perfect. Except..."

"Except..." 

"Except he's got strange decorations around."

"Like?"

"You know for someone's who's not interested in my personal life..."

"Don't get me wrong. It's not that I care or anything. It's simply that there's nothing to do. And when there's nothing to, even your stories seem...bearable."

"He's got a skull on the mantelpiece."

"A skull," repeated Douglas raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, and books on poison in the bookcase."

"Poison." The eyebrow arched higher.

"Alright! Yes, Douglas! He's got books on poison and a skull! It doesn't matter! I've got a nice place to live with a nice flatmate!"

"I didn't say anything. Although, if I were to say something, it'd be along the lines of  'Captain Martin Crieff; I knew him well. He had the misfortune of, well, being Martin Crieff.' But of course, I won't be saying anything."

"Skip?"

"Yes, Arthur?" groaned Martin.

"Sorry, but that's brilliant!"

"Really?" asked Martin lifting his head up.

"Really! I've never known anyone interesting enough to have a skull on a mantelpiece before!"

"Yes. Well. He is interesting like that."

"I wish I could own a skull."

"Way too easy," muttered Douglas.

"Oh, wait! Mum?" called out Arthur as he closed the curtain behind him.

It was only moments later before Arthur came back.

"Well?" inquired Martin.

"She said 'When pigs fly.'"

"Oh, well, sorry about that," said Martin.

"What do you mean? I'm sure that I can find a pig from the phonebook." 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was only a few days of living with John before a black car came for Martin. He'd just returned from a long flight from Anaheim when a car with tinted windows parked right in front of him. The window rolled down only to reveal a young woman with brown hair typing away at her cell phone.

"Mr. Martin Crieff?"

"Actually, that's Captain Martin Crieff" corrected Martin, as he stood up a little bit straighter.

She gave him a quick glance before ordering him to "Get in." He didn't know compelled him to do so, but he opened the door and took the seat next to her. The silence was overbearing along the way to wherever they were going.

"So....what's your name?" politely asked Martin.

"Hmm...Amanda, I suppose," she answered clicking away at the keys.

"Alright then. I hope you don't mind my asking, but where are we going?"

This time she didn't bother answering. He gulped, fiddling with his pristine captain's hat that rested on his lap. The car continued on for what seemed forever before they reached his destination. As he got out of the car, Amanda called out from the window, "He's waiting inside."  
"Inside" was of a run-down factory. "He" was a well-dressed older man holding an umbrella. "He" was also intimidating. Martin stood 6 feet away from the other man. "Hello," greeted the man. Martin looked around himself before awkwardly greeting back.

"H-hello."

"Captain Martin Crieff. Age 33. Part of MJN Air, for which you get no pay, though that is, admittedly deserved seeing as you took 4 tries to get your CPL. In order to make up for the funds, or lack thereof, you work as a 'Man with a Van', of which you receive 10 pounds at an hourly rate. Is that correct?" recited the mysterious man.

"W-who are you?" asked Martin. 

"But of course that's right," said the man to himself, ignoring Martin's question. "No, the real question being about your home life with a Dr. John Watson; how is that? Are you two still in the honeymoon phase or has that passed?"

"I d-don't see how that's any of your business."

"Oh, but you see that is my business. John Watson has, well let's just say, friends in higher up places, who would hate to see him hurt. I just wanted to warn you of that. But, now you know, and I suppose, now, you wouldn't. Good-night **_CAPTAIN_** Martin Crieff" said the man, stretching out the word "Captain" as if mocking him. 

Martin turned around to see Amanda behind him, still on her phone. He moved to follow her, but turned back once more. "I wouldn't hurt John even if you hadn't warned me. Not ever." He turned around one final time, following Abby back into the car. He did so before he could see the man give a dry smile in his direction. The man took his phone out of his pocket and texted one message before heading back to his own home. The text read, "John is safe with him. CCTV will still be watching the both of them. Don't worry. MH."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Anthea the pseudonym of "Amanda" because I'd thought it'd be amusing that "Martin" and "Amanda" were interacting with each other.


	4. Chapter 4

When Martin arrived home, he slung his jacket onto the couch. He made it all the way to the entrance of his room before going back to retrieve his jacket and folding it, placing it carefully on his chair along with his hat on top. He flung himself onto the bed, sighing at the events that unfolded. It was 3 am before he fell asleep. He dreamt of the mystery man in a Mickey Mouse hat- the one with the big round ears. He dreamt of Arthur dressed as a giant cell phone with Amanda typing away at his keys. Lastly, he dreamt of himself and John flying over a castle with a bunch of otters in the passengers' seats. He was asleep only for 1 hour before waking to a loud thump from outside of his room.

"Damn! My leg!" Martin creaked his door open to see John leaning forward, rubbing his foot. "Are you okay?" asked Martin worriedly.

"Sorry. Did I wake you up? . I saw that your light was on and you looked cold, so...Anyways, I banged my leg against the door." Martin looked down, and noticed the blanket that John was carrying. "So...here," said John, handing the blanket to Martin, who took it graciously.

"Oh. Well, thanks."

"Well...good-night" said John as he headed back upstairs. And as he went, Martin grew more and more anxious so he said the only thing that came to his mind, "Wait! I met some guy tonight!"

John stopped his tracks before looking towards Martin. "Oh! No! Erm..." And suddenly all the words that Martin wanted to say to John disappeared. All the things about Amanda and Umbrella Man knowing everything about himself went away, and all he could say was "I met Mickey Mouse!"

"I take it that Anaheim was fun, then?" asked John with a smile.

"Yeah. Even Douglas had fun. And you know how he is. Well, you don't, but if you did, you'd be surprised. And Arthur-he had fun. But he's Arthur, so he's always having fun. And we met Mickey and Donald!" said Martin energetically.

"Well, I'm glad," said John. And he was.

" Wait," realized Martin. He stuffed his hand into his trouser pocket, pulling out something small. "I got you something. It's not much, but..." placing the souvenir into John's palm. It was one of those pennies shaped into the picture. This particular one held the picture of Steamboat Willie.

The idea made John chuckle. "What?" asked Martin curiously.

"Nothing. It's just that I got a coin with a picture of Captain Mickey from Captain Martin Crieff." And with that, he fell into a fit of giggles with Martin joining in.


	5. Chapter 5

The night (though morning seemed more accurate) passed. The light came through the window pushing at the lids of his eyes. They flickered open and shut for brief moments before settling back to being comfortably closed. It took him only a few minutes of recollection before Martin sat up. Last night he was "kidnapped" ,held in a cold, empty factory only to be interrogated by a strange man. And that man asked questions-questions about John. It had only dawned on him just then, sitting on his bed, that John was in danger. If he knew all there was to know about Martin, what did he know about John? What did he want to know about John? The sound of a tea kettle whistling, took him out of his thoughts.

Martin rushed out of bed, tangling his feet on the sheets. He tripped, banging his chin against the ground. "John?" "John?!" he called out. "I need to talk to you! Last night! Last night! A strange ma-" 

There sitting comfortably in one of the comfy chairs of the living-room, was The Man. His right foot crossed over the other, his umbrella at his side. When he heard Martin's voice, he turned to face him, giving him the smuggest smirk in the world. (If Martin weren't so afraid, he'd probably punch him.) "Hello, _**Captain**_." 'Okay. Screw being scared. I'll punch him anyways.'

"Oh, there you are Martin. I was wondering when you'd get up. You've almost slept the entire day away. Would you care for a cuppa?" politely asked Mrs. Hudson setting down the plate of biscuits. "No thank you, Mrs. Hudson." 'No worries, Martin. No need to panic. Keep a cool head. As long as Mrs. Hudson doesn't know who he is, she's safe.Once this is over, I'll warn her about letting in strangers.'

"Mrs. Hudson, do you think you could get the mail from outside? I'm expecting an important package." 

"I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper" she said as she left the room.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

The room was tense with a pregnant silence filling up every crevice of the building. Martin made the first move. "What do you want?" 

"I see we've become bolder since last night. Also, that the place has hardly changed. No possessions of your own, hm?" asked the man looking around the flat. Martin took advantage of this, backing up to the desk. Behind his back, he took a letter knife from the desk as quickly as possible.

"Or maybe he simply kept it that way. Sentiment, I suppose," said the man, holding the conversation himself. Martin had this chance to plunge the knife into the man's lap and run away. He raised the knife, ready to plunge only to be stopped by a single command. "Stop that ridiculousness at once, young man!" There he was, standing over the man with a letter knife in his grip, and there Mrs. Hudson was, at the door, with John back from grocery shopping, staring at him like he was a madman. "I-I...But, he..."

The man turned around, only to say in a calm voice "Really, _**Captain**_? That is a bit of an overreaction, don't you think?" 

 


	6. Chapter 6

In Martin's mind, the second encounter with the man would have gone much differently. He would have been brave and strong. It would certainly not have ended in him staring at the man sitting across from him, sipping tea.

"So...I take it that you've met," questioned John as he put away the groceries.

"I can't really say. You'd have to know the other person's name in order to officially meet them, don't you?" quipped Martin. "Mycroft Holmes at your service," introduced the man.

"I suppose this would be the time to introduce myself, wouldn't it? But you already know everything about me, don't you?" snarked Martin.

"Hmm. Your idea of being brave. isn't it? I suppose you would be; especially here" retorted Mycroft as he nodded in the direction of John. Martin flushed slightly, mentally preparing a comeback.

"That's enough of that, Mycroft. What do you want?" asked John. Mycroft looked at him for the first time since he's arrived. "Just visiting. It's been awhile seen I've last seen you."

"Yes, and we both know why that is, don't we?" pressed John.

"Yes. We do." Guilty eyes look down as his mother said. Martin pondered over this unspoken question in his head, while the other men continued with their conversation. "I've come to check on you."

"There's really no point in that. At all."

"I worry."

"Not necessary."

"Maybe. That doesn't mean I won't stop being concerned."

"Didn't say that you wouldn't be."

"Wait a minute..." Both heads turned to Martin. "So, when you were asking about John....you were being caring?"

"Observant, aren't you? Where do you find these people, John? He's worse than the teacher."

"Mycroft?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

 


	7. Chapter 7

Martin was looking down the window when Mrs. Hudson spoke.

"He's not all that bad. Mycroft, that is."

"Somehow, Mrs. Hudson, I sincerely doubt that" said Martin watching John and Mycroft talking on the sidewalk.

"It's been tough. On the both of them."

"W-what do you mean?" asked Martin hesitantly. "Were they...together or something?" he asked, clearing his throat afterwards.

"Nothing like that. Don't worry," reassured Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm not-"

"He's not competition or anything."

"I-"

"It's just-" Mrs. Hudson's voice seemed to tighten before continuing. "It's just that it's been hard on all of us. A friend of ours, Mycroft's brother, the previous tenant...he died."

"Oh..OH! God! I'm so sorry!" he said, eyes widening. "I must have seemed like a complete jackass to him. God! I should go down to apologize."

"There's no need for that now. I'm sure that both he and John have a lot to talk about right now. Next time," she said taking a seat.

"Mrs Hudson? Are you alright?" asked Martin, concerned.

"Nothing that a fresh cup of tea won't fix."

"Aahh." With that, Martin took his cue. He made a fresh brew, placing the tea set to Mrs. Hudson.

"Thank you, dearie."

Martin took a seat next to Mrs. Hudson watching as she took a sip.

"Oh, this is very good."

Martin smiled. "Next time you pay the flat a visit, I'll make sure to make you a fresh brew."

"You don't have to do that."

"It would be my pleasure."

They fell into a comfortable silence for a while before Martin spoke again.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Can you, that is if you don't mind, tell me more about the previous tenant?"

Mrs. Hudson took a long sip before setting the tea cup onto the table with a clink.

"His name was Sherlock Holmes..."

 


	8. Chapter 8

It seemed that all Martin did that day was listen. He listened to Mrs. Hudson as she told the tale of the late great Sherlock Holmes. He listened to the way her voice quivered when she went over the particularly happy parts of the story, because those were the hardest. He listened to the clink of her tea cup whenever she set it down after she would take large sips. He listened to the sound of footsteps climbing up stairs. He listened to the sound of silence when John came back into the room only to tell them that he had to leave again for work. He listened to all these sounds and he could feel regret. Regret at the way he acted. Regret at what he said. But most of all regret for taking the place of a great and missed man.

After their conversation, Mrs. Hudson left, blaming her hip. But he listened, and he heard her sniffling as she closed the door behind her. He sat at that table and looked. And he saw. The books on poison. The skull on the mantelpiece. The strange smiley face in faded yellow paint. He got up, placing his palm right over it. He slid his palm against the wall until his finger fell into a small bullet hole.

Almost instantaneously, he pulled back.  He needed air. He rush down the steps, skipping some, while shoving his arms into his jacket's sleeves. Out the door he went, bumping into several people along the way to nowhere. Not so much of a "Sorry" or "Beg your pardon."

Only when he reached a park bench did he sit down, resigned, that the guilt filled him, ready to burst. So much so that when a priest made his way to sit next to him, he said "Sorry," as if he had committed a great crime against the man. The man arched his brow and once again Martin apologized. "I'm so sorry." As if the man understood his plight, he waived Martin's guilt with a pardon, "I forgive you." Martin silently thanked the curly-haired man for giving him some resolution.


	9. Chapter 9

"You've put yourself in view. Now,  don't you think you were being rash?" Mycroft sniffed his nose, before pointedly staring down the man in his chair.

"Hardly. He's not a very observant man, is he? Worse than the schoolteacher."

Mycroft wryly smiled. "Yes, even so. There are other forces that won't have such a problem.And the priest costume again? Old hat trick again?"

"It's best to keep things simple." Mycroft sighed, taking a sip from his tumbler.

The man looked up from fiddling with his violin. "Where is it this time?"

"Peru. Gang of illegal armsmen. Your first flight is this evening at 5."

The man got up on his feet, moving gracefully before stopping at the door.

"Mycroft?"

"Yes?"

"Take care of him. Please." The man said the word "please" so hesitantly, a tremor in a voice barely above a whisper. A word so uncommon between the two of them, that Mycroft, a man prepared for most things, was actually startled.

He collected himself with a cough in his throat. "Yes...Of course."

"Thank you." The man exited, turning his collar up as he left.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

"I spy with my little eye something blue!" exclaimed Arthur excitedly.

"Is it… the sky?" drawled out Douglas.

"Wow. That's brilliant! How did you know?"

"Lucky guess" dryly answered Douglas.

"Ok, now it's your turn" said Arthur enthusiastically.

"Alright, then. I spy with my little eye…Ah-ha! Something sad."

 "Oh, I know! I know! It's Skip!" "Right you are, there, Arthur."

"Leave me alone Douglas" Martin sulked.

"Now, Martin. Is that any way to behave? You're putting quite a damper on Arthur's game."

"Skip, I'm sure you'll feel better when you play this game. The rules are-"

"Yes! I know what the rules are" snapped Martin. Martin regretted his words immediately. Arthur's face looked like a kicked puppy. "Sorry, Arthur."

Arthur, so easily pleased, ever so good-natured, forgave him.

"No problem, Skip. Everyone's got bad days. Even me."

"Really?" asked Douglas incredulously.

"Sure! There was that time, wait no. The time with..um. Huh. I can't think of a particular one, right now. But I'm sure that I've had one."

"Arthur!" called Carolyn.

"Coming, mum!" Arthur called back, leaving the cabin.

There was a brief moment of silence when he left, before Douglas cleared his throat. "So your doctor friend…How's that going?" inquired Douglas curiousy.

"I have no clue what you're talking about" denied Martin avoiding Douglas' gaze.

"Really? So he's not the cause of your mood?"

"No. He's been wonderful."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"…There's a friend." "Right…"

"Who has a friend who has a friend-"

"How many more friends are their in your situation?"

"Who died."

"I guess that ends that."

"The problem is that the friend of a friend and the friend that died were really close. And now my friend doesn't know if he's being presumptuous when he tries to get close to **his** friend. Like he's replacing him."

"Alright…I'm not even going to pretend that I understood a word you said. But…if I had to give you advice, I mean, your 'friend' advice, I would say that it's not bad if he's trying to get close to his friend. And that he's an idiot if he thinks he can replace the dead friend."

"Oh! Well thanks for that!" sarcastically remarked Martin.

"No, wait, hear me out. Your friend would be an idiot because his friend wouldn't want him to change. They aren't friends because he's trying to replace the other friend. They're friends because they like each other. And sure the other's friend's death puts a damper on their relationship, but if one works hard at it, they'll persevere and become closer because of it."

"…That's good advice."

"There's no need to sound surprised. I'm full of wisdom."

"Yes, well, thank you. My friend will appreciate it."

"I'm sure he will. I'm also sure that when the time comes they'll form a lovely romantic relationship."

"What? No! It's not like that! W-They're just friends."

"Right…And I'm sure that this picture of your so-called friend is so innocent" said Douglas holding out Martin's mobile.

"What? where did you get that?!"

"I must say that while I'm no expert on men's bums, this one seems…nice" complimented Douglas looking at the picture.

"I don't know how that got there!" That was a lie. John just happened to bend over to pick up a fallen soup can on the kitchen floor, and Martin just happened to take a picture with his phone. It wasn't his fault, really. It was a new phone. He simply didn't know how to use it. Any negative connotations otherwise implied, he would deny.

"Give it back, Douglas!" Martin made way to grab it, but Douglas pulled it out his way. There was a light tussle to grab the mobile when Carolyn's voice came through the curtain.

"What are you two idiots doing?! I paid for two pilots, not two bumper-car drivers!"

"Oh, but mum. It's like a ride! Come on! Put your hands up in the air! Whee!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a few months after Martin moved in with John.

"John, would you like to partake in a delicious meal with myself? No, that's a bit too much, isn't it?" Martin shook his head. "Ok, let's try that again." He cleared his throat, staring into his reflection.

"John-" 

"Yes?"

"Holy shi-Hey! John! Hey!"

"Hey?" smiled John. 

"Did, did you just get in?"

"Yeah. Long day at the clinic. I'm famished."

"W-well, we can go out. That is if you want? I mean, if you're up to it. It's not healthy not to eat, but of course you know that, being a doctor and all-"

"Sure."

"Really?" gleefully asked Martin, the side of his lips turning up ever so slightly.

"Sure. Though, it's a bit late for anything good. The restaraunts must be filled right now."

"I've got reservations."

"Oh. Okay. Let me wash up."

When John left the room, Martin clenched his hands into fists, jumping up and down. When he heard footsteps returning, he composed himself, tugging down his jacket.

"Ready?"

"Yes. Let's go."

They were sat at the table when Douglas' advice came to Martin's mind. "Get him drunk." 

"Sir's, have you chosen from the wine list yet?" asked the waiter.

"Yes. I would like-" _'How the hell am I supposed to pronounce that?!'"-_ that one," ordered Martin pointing at his choice on the wine list."As you like, sir. And you, sir?" the waiter asked turning to John. 

"I'll have the same."

"Very good. I'll be right back with your drinks and meals."

Martin made way to grab a roll, accidentally bumping knuckles with John. "Oh, sorry."

"That's alright," consoled John biting into his roll.  "So, tell me, how did you manage to get reservations to this place? People usually have to reserve months in advance."

'Well, I asked a favor of Douglas dealing with courting you. I'm sure that'll be a great response.'

"I was just really lucky. Someone canceled."

"Oh, well that's good."

The waiter returned with their wine. "To our good luck." toasted John.

"To our luck," repeated Martin clinking his glass against John's. As he took his sip, he dribbled the wine onto his shirt. "Oh shit," Martin muttered, standing up, his arms wide out. 

"Here," said John, handing his napkin to Martin.

"Thanks." 

"Sorry. Sorry. I've ruined things," apologized Martin as he took his seat. "I'm not normally this clumsy on my dates."

"Sorry?" asked John, a confused look on his face. "Is this a date?"

"No! No, No! I meant,...I just...I just wanted this to be really nice."  _For you_ was at the tip of Martin's tongue.

John laid his hands over Martin's, which was resting on the table. "Martin..."

Martin looked over at John, whose tongue licked at the edge of his mouth.

"Well, usually dates, for me, are more intimate," suggested John, his eyes flicking to the direction of the door.

"But the food..."

"Martin."

They ended back at the flat, John pushing Martin against the door, their lips smacking against each other.

"Let's get that off you." The stained shirt was ripped off.

It was early morning when Martin woke up. John was snuggled up against him, his arms wrapped around Martin's chest.

"You know, you better not start thinking I'm easy or anything," muttered John groggily into Martin's neck. 

Martin grinned before placing a kiss onto John's forehead. 

"You're adorable, you know that? Like a hedgehog." John opened up an eyelid. "Is that a compliment?"

'Remember Skip, always give lots of compliments. Say something nice. Like he looks nice. Oh, oh, like a polar bear! No! A penguin! No! A hedgehog!' Arthur's voice carried in Martin's head, which was...inconvenient given his current location.

"Bit not good?" asked Martin sheepishly. John's eyes flickered open a bit in surprise before settling into his normal look. 

'Well, as normal as he could look, being naked and all' thought Martin. "No, it's fine. It's just that I don't believe that I've ever been compared to a hedgehog before" explained John. 

"Well, it's true." "Look who's being forward now. Well-"said John, sitting up. "I suppose you would be," said John kissing Martin between every word. 

"I know how to be forward" replied Martin sliding his hand to John's bottom,cupping a cheek. "Oh, really? I'm not so sure about that," teased John.

"Let me show you."

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

"How did it go?" asked Douglas.

"Really, really good" answered Martin, his cheeks hurting from grinning.

"I take it that the alcohol did the trick" teased Douglas.

"No. If you must know, he only took a sip."

"I see that you went with the hypnotism route. Tricky. I give you ten points for creativity. And then deduct twenty for tackiness."

"Oh go on Douglas. Say whatever you want. I'm happy and nothing you say can bring me down."

"Catchy. Did you get that from an 80's pop song?"

"Nooo."

"So where did you leave the poor, unfortunate soul?"

"Little Mermaid?"

"Damn. Alright, that's 1 point to you, leaving a total of 4 points for you and 12 for me. So..."

"So...it's none of your business."

"Oh come off it. Who gave you the idea?"

"I did," Martin said cocking an eyebrow.

"True. But if you were to tell me, I'd give you 8 points in our little game. That'd give you a nice score of 12, which I've so graciously added for you."

"Douglas, do you really think that I'm so petty as to use my love life as a means to get extra points?"

This time Douglas cocked his eyebrow.

"Alright, then. I'll leave you to ruminate your thoughts to yourself then."

"Really? You really mean that? Like you're not trying to trick me or anything?"

"And in what way would I be tricking you, exactly?"

"I don't know. Somehow you are."

"Nope. I promise to the goodness of my heart that I am in no way planning on tricking you. If however, you so happened to simply tell me how it went..."

"Aha! Nice try Douglas."

"Oh no, whatever should I do," remarked Douglas in a monotone voice. "Besides it's not like anything happened. I mean... c'mon" smirked Douglas looking over Martin.

"I'll have you know things went very well last night! TWICE, very well, in fact!" countered Martin.

"Ah. Good. Nice to know. Oh, that's a lovely shade of red on your face. Close to your hair color, but more pinkish than orange."

"You should bring him over sometime for a ride. And I mean in the plane, of course."

It took Martin a few moments to find his words, "Why should I? You'll only embarrass me in front of him."

"It'll give him a chance to meet your lovely crew. And vice versa. Also, it'll give you a chance to impress him. You'll need to after last night's...escapades."

"I'll have you know-"

Douglas cut him off, "No, you will not. There's information, and then there's too much information."

They sat silently before clearing off for take off.

"So then next week? Saturday, good for you?" suggested Martin.

"Yeah. That's fine. Though, you should probably clear it with Carolyn first."

"It'll be fine. We're only transporting a package then."

"...So, I'm sure things will go fine."

"What? Of course things will be fine. I'll be piloting."

"No. I wasn't talking about the delivery. I meant your relationship with the Doctor."

"Oh...of course. Thank you" muttered Martin.

"Yes, well, you're welcome."

"So, sorry, did we just have a moment there?"

"Yes, it was strange for me too. Let's never speak of it again."

"Don't know what you're talking about...Anyways things will be fine for me and John, I hope. Love will keep us together, and all that."

"Captain and Tennille?"

"Damn it!"

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

It was the beeping that did it. The beeping from that stupid box. Thousands of feet in the air and it was the only thing that worried Martin. It wouldn't do for him if whatever was in the box broke. Carolyn would have a fit, and it was hardly impressive that the first time John was on the plane that something utterly wrong came about. So he did what any worried, inwardly panicking man in an irrational state of being would do: he ordered Arthur to fix it.

"Right oh, Skip!" Arthur pulled the curtain open so that Martin could see John leaning on his armrest. John noticed Martin staring and gave a smile. "Hey."

Martin smiled back and gave his own greeting. "Hey."

"What a stimulating conversation, the two of you are having. Do slow down. I fear that my mind won't catch up" quipped Douglas. Martin elbowed him.

"Skip?"

"What is it Arthur?" sighed Martin, the mood already broken by his crew.

"I can't open the box."

"Well, get a crowbar or something. There should be a tool of some sort in the storage unit."

"Brilliant idea! Isn't he brilliant?" asked Arthur, this time addressing John. It took Martin to realize that Arthur was trying to help him impress John. He silently thanked him in his head until he caught sight of Arthur wriggling his eyebrows. It looked like there were two crazed caterpillars doing a flamenco dance. "All right! Go get it! Now!" pressed Martin, his composure almost all but lost. 

Arthur took his cue and looked for something to open the wooden box with. When he was out of sight, Martin tried to make conversation with John. "So, um, John, are you enjoying the ride?"

"Yeah. It's really nice so far. Nice views and all."

"Have you been on planes that much?"

"Some. They're usually a bit smaller though."

"Good God! What were you flying? A model airplane?"

"Douglas!" admonished Martin.

"They were government planes. I used to be an army doctor."

"Oh, really? Did you get shot at?"

"Douglas!"

"That's alright, Martin. Yes. I was shot in my shoulder."

"Aah. Well, I'm glad you weren't hurt badly."

"Thank...you. I guess."

"If you were hurt badly, you wouldn't have been able to meet Martin."

"Aah. Well, that would have been bad."

"Although, if you weren't able to meet him, then maybe I could have had some peace. He insistently talks about you."

"He really does," said Arthur entering both the room and conversation. Martin barely noticed him, what with him pulling his captain's hat over his eyes in embarrassment. He worked at pulling the lid of the box with a crowbar.

"Really?"

"Yes. Even more so than planes, which is quite a lot. It gets annoying."

At that very moment Martin wished himself dead. The gods must have heard him and missed because the next thing he knew was the sound of something whooshing really fast.

"Oh my god!" yelled John. 

"What? What happened?" From where he was sitting, all he could see was John crouching down. The box blocked his vision of Arthur,except for the tip of his head, cradled in John's lap. 

"Do an emergency landing! Quickly!" ordered John. Douglas did as he was told radioing ATC. Moans from Arthur echoed against the metal sides of the plane.

"What happened?!" frantically asked Martin.

"He's been shot I'm putting pressure on it right now."

"H-how can you be calm?" stuttered Martin. He twisted his neck to get a better view. Red stained John's shirt. Blood. It was blood. Martin choked back against the breakfast that insisted on regurgitating upwards. He stared back out the front window in order to calm himself.

"Army doctor, remember? Arthur, I'm going to need you to focus on me.You're going to be fine.  I've experienced worse things than this."

It was like a curse that John said that because it did in fact grow worse. The beeping came back. Only when a voice came out that it was realized by all that it was an answering machine.

"Hello John!" cheerfully greeted a high-pitched voice. Martin looked back to see that John had gone white. "It's been quite a while, now hasn't it? I do hope things haven't gone boring for you since I've been gone. Working at a hospital, simply sitting down all the time. Tsk tsk." tutted the voice. "Well, guess what? I'mmmm baaaaack! Isn't that wonderful? I didn't think I would be, seeing as how my favourite toy is now gone." The voice had turned cold sending a chill down Martin's spine. "But you shouldn't be jealous. You're my 2nd favourite. My new favourite is right here with me. Say 'hello.'" They waited before a timid voice came from the machine. "H-hullo." It sounded familiar to Martin, but it was too quiet a voice for him to hear. It was Arthur who came up with the answer. "M...mum?" 

And it was. Quiet and apprehensive. But there it was. Carolyn Knapp-Shappey. Owner of MJN Air and mother to Arthur. It was unrecognizable to Martin because this was the first time that he's ever heard her other than strong and authoritive. She sounded weak. So very weak. 

"That's hardly worthy of your employees isn't it? I'm sure that they deserve more than that. Especially your son. Poor little Arthur. I mean, you'll want to say more to him in his condition. You'll never know if this might be the last you speak to him." The sneer in his voice was clear to Martin.

Those words seemed to resound Carolyn's maternal instincts because she gained back her voice if only for a moment,"If you hurt him, I swear I'll-"

Crack! That was the sound interrupting Carolyn, loud and harsh from the speaker. "Mum!" shouted Arthur, his voice unable to reach her. His voice left his entire body, spasming his muscles. "No worries. Only unconscious. You have to be a little strict to hostages, otherwise they get all impudent. Now where were we John. Oh yes; Come and find me." The voice grew darker and all Martin could think of was that it reminded him of a spider. "Otherwise, bad things will happen."

"And one more thing- congratulations on the new boyfriend." The voice grew cheerful once more. "Let me play you a song for the happy occasion." The song "Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees came on. It repeated itself as the plane landed, and once more as the stretcher came for Arthur. But it echoed in Martin's mind days afterwards.

 


	14. Chapter 14

It was at the hospital when everything clicked in Martin's mind that this was hell. It wasn't eating-a-baked-potato-for-dessert hell or being-mocked-by-Douglas hell. This was proper hell. A madman had booby-trapped a box that the crew was delivering to shoot Arthur. Carolyn was being used as bait. And all for what? To get John's attention? He wanted answers.

"I need you to tell me everything" ordered Martin closing the door of the empty storage room, the clicking sound resounding in the empty room. "Martin..."sighed John. He voiced his name in a light airy tone, one which under better conditions Martin would have fallen for.

"There are things far too complicated-"

"No!" Martin shoved John, his back hitting the door. He held John's face in his hand, pressing tightly, as if to make John feel his frustrations. "Don't!" He held his voice back, choking at the screams and yelling that he oh so wanted to do, his tone glimmering to a whisper. "Don't treat me like a child, John. Not now. Not when my friends are hurt. Not when they could have died." Martin leaned forward, pressing his forehead to John's. "I know you have your secrets, John. I've respected that for months. But please, don't make this about you. Don't leave me in the dark. If-" Martin opened his eyes to stare down at John's, "-you care anything about me, you'll tell me everything." 

John's eyes were always expressive. Martin could see him analyzing all the possible outcomes, all options. Martin held his breath. And then, finally, John opened his mouth, "His names is James Moriarty..."

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

John left Martin to his thoughts. He left him in that room to talk to Inspector Lestrade, and all Martin could do was stand in this small room, hiding like a rat from everything the world throws at him. He's hiding from John's world which was encroaching on his. The people, the drama, the BLOODY GUNS! All of it was spilling over his normal, albeit quirky life, polluting the good of his life. His friends, no, his family were being threatened. Arthur was shot at, and Carolyn was kidnapped by a psychopath. And John! Bloody, incredible, strong, strange John! It wasn't John's fault. It really wasn't. But even so, thought Martin, he couldn't not blame him. 

' _If I had never met him._..'. Martin's thought flickered quickly in his mind. And he never really grasped the answer to his question. And more than possible, he didn't want to find it. He collapsed onto the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. It was only when he heard footsteps that he got up again. He patted the dirt off hmself before straightening out the wrinkles. Captains don't have wrinkled clothes, and if there was one thing Martin knew as fact, no gray areas, no feelings about, it was that he was a Captain.

He walked with a straight back towards Arthur's room where he was met with the sight of an unconscious Arthur, and a slouching Douglas sitting at his bedside.

 

"Well, can't say this was the best impression your boyfriend has made. I think he's worse than the flight attendant, if that's possible," Douglas said without bite.

"Douglas," sighed Martin wearily, "Please. Just shut up." Martin stared down at Arthur who looked, so pale.

' _Of course, seeing as how most of his blood is on John's shirt_ ,' thought Martin ruefully. 

"He's fine." Martin turned his gaze to Douglas. "The doctors say he's fine. Strange, though isn't it? A quiet Arthur? It can't help but feel strange, like something from the Twilight Zone. Next thing you'll see is a gremlin on the wing of the plane." 

Martin couldn't help but give a slight chuckle. It was strange to laugh in the hospital, with a man who almost died at his side. But a part of Martin could feel only relief. A small one, like someone put up a wooden pillar for a large stone bridge, but altogether helpful in a way.

"So, I don't mean to pry..." started Douglas.

"So don't."

"What are you planning to do? With John that is? Stay with him? Move out? Break up?"

"I don't know."

"Ok. That helped. Here's another: what does it mean for us?" And Martin looked at Douglas' face like it was something unfamiliar and new to him. And it was. Douglas' hair was duller. His eyes changed from a rich colour to a muddled one. Heavy bags were under his eyes. Shadows and wrinkles were appearing where they weren't before. And Douglas, he looked **so** old. So unlike the confident second-in-command. So...not him. Rather, a haggard man lied in front of Martin's eyes, one whose troubles lasted an eternity rather than only a few hours ago. And Martin couldn't stop blaming John for that as well. 

"I don't know," he answered again. _I don't seem to know anything, do I?_


	16. Chapter 16

It took exactly three rings before Mycroft to answer the phone. The first ring startled him. The second ring let him settle his teacup down. The third ring waited as he walked in the direction of the phone. He barely managed to get a greeting in, when the voice at the other end spoke. "Bring me back."

 Mycroft gave a sigh at his command. "You know that I can't do that now."

"John is in trouble. Moriarty-"

"-will only go after you again. Last time he was unsuccessful. Who's to say he isn't going to be this time? He will not stop. Even in death."

There was silence at the other end, that Mycroft was nearly certain that the other man hung up on him, until the other man spoke once more.

"I expect you to take care of this. You have to end this **now**."

"I have a plan. But you have to stay away. Do you understand me? Take care of your own businesses. Ensure that the webs are damaged beyond repair and then you can come home."

"To where?" And that question brought along with it more questions in Mycroft's mind than he thought possible. Where would he stay? Surely John would let him back into his life. Or has things changed too much? And what about that pilot of his? Would he accept the situation? And so Mycroft did what little he could to console him.

"Wherever you want." ' _And it wasn't a lie. Not really_ ,' rationalized Mycroft.

 

Martin sat in the cockpit swiveling his chair back and forth. The plane had always been a place of comfort for him. Even if it looked like they were crashing those few times that he panicked.The curtain was drawn so he wouldn't have to accidently look at the blood stains that haven't been cleaned up yet, and he held a tumblr filled to the brim with his drink. He took a large gulp, looking out the window as he did so. The stars were bright against the night's dark backdrop. He took turns between gulping his drink down and refilling it. He set it down on the dashboard after his 5th refill, opting to fill another glass. He held it up to his eye, mesmorized by the colour. _Amber_. 

Without turning around, he called out, "Would you like a glass?" The curtains were pushed to the side, and an arm reached out to accept the drink from Martin. "Thank you very much." Mycroft took a seat next to him, and Martin took another sip. 

"What do you want, Mycroft? I doubt you've come here if you didn't want something from me."

"What are we having here?" ignored Mycroft, inspecting the drink.

"Apple juice," pointedly answered Martin.

Mycroft took a gulp, letting the drink burn the back of his throat. "Bit strong to be _apple juice_."

Martin shrugged. "What can I say? Strong apple juice helps me calm the nerves."

Mycroft finished his glass, letting Martin refill his glass. "You're right. I'm here to talk to you about something." Martin waited for Mycroft to continue, who took another gulp of his drink. "I came here to talk to you about John."

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

The day that Arthur was shot and Carolyn was taken was the same day that things were made. Plans were made that day. Enemies were made that day. And most of all the man Martin Crieff would become was made that day.  
    “Alright men, we’ve got a hostage situation. One Carolyn Knapp-Shappey was taken by a Moriarty. I know we’ve thought it was over. Well, turns out it isn’t. We’re tracking down any sources that may know the whereabouts of Moriarty. Be warned that this man is dangerous and unstable. Do not let him know what we’re doing. Do not bring attention to yourself.”  
     'Detective Inspector Lestrade was an authoritative man', thought Martin. Almost like a General leading to his soldiers to war. He supposed that this was war. He’d never been in one before. But looking at  everyone (though not at John, never at John), he suspected that this is what one looked like. His thoughts were interrupted by an officer. “Detective? You may want to take this call.”  
    Lestrade put the phone on speaker, greeting the person on the other line with his name.  
    “Lestrade.”  
    “Hello Detective.” The room grew silent.  
    “Moriarty.”  
    “Ah! I see that I haven’t been forgotten.”  
    “What do you want?”  
    “Let me make things easy for you. Call off your dogs. You’ll never find me. Why don’t you just go out for a donut? My treat. Weelll, not really. And John, I’m assuming John is there as well? I’ll be seeing you very soon. I know that the waters have been murky for you lately, what with your best friend dead, and your boyfriend, well, him, but I’m sure that things will be looking up for you very soon. Taa!” The call ended with a loud BEEP BEEP BEEP.  
    “Did we get a trace on that?” demanded Lestrade pointing to an officer. “Yeah! It’s, wait...the scanner is picking up 3 different, no, 4...7 spots!”  
    Lestrade rubbed his eyes, muttering to himself, “Damn it...” He stood straight addressing everyone.  
    “All right! Everyone split up. Groups of 2. Canvas the areas! Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT cause a panic if you’re in a public place and spot something suspicious. If you do see something, call for back-up through your radios, and clear the streets. Understand? Good. Let’s go!” The room burst with the cacophony of boots rushing out of the room, whilst Lestrade told John one more thing, “Stay here! We’ll let you know what happens next. Donovan will be guarding this room. Donovan.”  
“Sir.”  
Lestrade nodded to the door and there she stood. He left the door behind them closed.  
And there he was left with John.

“So are you going to listen to him?” asked Martin looking at the wall.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” And this time he looked at John. “So what’s the plan?”

“No clue.”

“Ok then.” After a few minutes, Martin got up from his chair, and knocked on the glass window. Donovan opened the door a sliver. “What is it?”

“Hi!” started Martin, grinning wide. “I know that John has to stay here, but do I have to?”  
She huffed. “I guess not.” She cracked the door, letting him slide by. “Thank you. And I’m really sorry for doing this.”  
“Doing wha-Hey get back here!” Martin had pushed John through the station, blocking Donovan’s by pushing wheelie chairs around. By the time he got knocked to the ground, and put into a cell, John had managed to escape.

“That was really stupid of you, you know that right,” reprimanded Donovan.

“I know.”

“So why’d you do it?” asked Donovan, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed.

“Haven’t you ever done anything stupid because you were in love?”

She stayed silent, and Martin supposed that she wasn’t going to answer anything soon, so he continued, “There will be things that I will say and things I will do because of him and maybe I’ll regret them or get hurt because of him. But he needs this. So I will do what I have to do. And it’s stupid because I haven’t known him for very long, but he’s already gotten himself a place in my heart. That bastard.”

She nodded like she understood parts of it, but she squinted her eyes at the ground. “What’ll happen?” She paused, thinking of her next words. “What if he does something bad in the name of  justice? What will you do if he goes past the breaking point of what is right?”

Martin paused, considering her words. “Then I’ll guess I’ll be there to stop him. And not just because I love him. But because I admire him. For all the good he has, he needs me to stop him sometimes.”  
    Donovan walked up to the prison doors, unlocking them.  
    “What are you doing?” asked Martin.  
    “I’ll tell you what I’m not doing. I’m not letting you go after the cops. I’m not telling you that it’s most likely that John followed Lestrade to 10425 Derbyshire Road. Also that you should wear this,” she said handing him a small device.  
    “What is it? I mean, what is it not?”  
    “It’s an ear piece. Let’s me know what you’re up to. Also if you catch up with John, Detective Lestrade, and another officer, gives me an idea that you’re not going to rat me out.”  
    “Did anyone tell you that you have trust issues, Officer Donovan?”  
    “Yeah, well I’m working on it. Now go out before I change my mind.” Martin ran out of the room, backtracking once to tell her, “ Whoever he is, I hope the two of you are happy.”  
“That bastard,” repeated Sally, grinning. “Do you have a plan?” Martin shook his head, tying his scarf around his neck. “Nope! I plan on just winging it!” He waved a good-bye, his legs carrying him out of the station.  
  



	18. Chapter 18

"Detective Inspector Lestrade. We've got a report of a suspicious sighting near Helmswort Park. A man was seen carrying a large, brown box into the park. The area is clear of civilians due to reconstruction near the area." 

"Got it," answered Lestrade, speaking into his walkie talkie. Officer Bridges and I will be arriving there shortly." When they arrived, the park was silent, devoid of the usual laughter of children. They crept closer and closer, their guns at the ready. Lestrade could feel his heart beating against his chest. Thump thump. Thump thump. The noise was loud in his ear that he was certain it could be heard yards away. As they approached the center of the park, they spotted a man sitting on a bench, his back turned towards them. Lestrade put his finger to his lips, signaling to his partner to keep quiet. Closer and closer, and then "Freeze!"  

Both of them pointed their guns at the man's head prepared to shoot. "Uup, uup, uup. Naughty Lestrade, you shouldn't do that." Lestrade froze. That voice wasn't Moriarty. He looked closer at the man. He had dark hair like Moriarty's, large eyes, but it was a fleeting likeness close up. He wore a hat, it's brim covering part of the curls of the ear piece wire. "Weell, you could. No skin off my nose. Though, I suppose that the government would frown on that sort of thing-killing a hostage is kind of a big no-no isn't it?"  

Lestrade slowly reached for his walkie-talkie. "Tut-tut. Did you honestly think that you could call for back-up? You could try, but um…they're all a bit preoccupied with their own hostage. How very sad." The man's eyes welled up, tears at the corner. "A-and look, the p-poor m…man is crying noww. Boo hoo. Might just have to blow something up to get him to stop." The man desperately shook his head, careful not to move the rest of his body. "No? You're going to stop crying now?" The man nodded, his nose dripping. "Well, what say you Lest-" The man's voice cut off. His eyes widened, staring at Lestrade. The three of each other waited, half an hour passing before Lestrade deemed it safe. "This is Detective Lestrade. We need the bomb squad at all locations suspected of housing Moriarty immediately!" Officer Bridges comforted the man, telling him to stay still and that help was on the way leaving Lestrade to wonder, "What the bloody hell was that?!" 

 

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

When John arrived at the pool, he was hit with the image of the past. But that was then and this is now. Sherlock wasn't there, his thin wiry frame paralyzed in shock and betrayal. John wasn't wired in bombs. He was older now. Quite possibly smarter if he dare say so. Dangerous. _Listen to me, John! You've got to listen._

 

> "Well, well, well. Look what we've got here. If my eyes don't deceive me, it's little John Watson. Now how do you do? "

John was expecting Moriarty to come out of the shadows, his gun drawn pointing at the corner near the locker rooms. A spider, is what Sherlock called him. But this was no spider. No, rather a man whose face John did not recognize appeared. He was not particularly tall nor short. Rather he had indistinguishable features, and if John had ever seen him in a crowd, his face would quickly evaporate from his mind as if he were made of smoke, dispersing so as to not let any wayward person draw near. That is if he had not opened his mouth. His grin revealed sharp teeth, as if they were filed down to gnash at muscle and blood.

 

> "Not who you were expecting?" The voice...the voice was low, very unlike Moriarty's. But in some sense it was. John was unable to quell his heartbeat down as it drummed against his ribcage. This voice inspired fear and nightmares John knew would come if he were to survive this.
> 
> "Cheap parlor trick, I'm afraid," the man said pulling out a tape recorder from inside his breast pocket. "I've got to say, you arrived here a lot earlier than I expected. Why, none of your police friends have arrived to their destinations yet. Though, it probably has more to do with the road blocks I've put up especially for them. Car crashes and the like. Shame really."
> 
> "Who are you?" asked John, as firm as he could be, his finger on the trigger.
> 
> "Who am I? Who am I? Ha!" The man started laughing as he heard the world's funniest joke, raucously and obnoxious, like a hyena. "I'm the man who's going to succeed where Moriarty failed. You see, I planned this whole thing by myself. ME! I've got hostages all around the city listening in to everything I'm saying! Video cameras all around with me staring down at them, like the face of God!" he exclaimed, tapping at the glasses he wore. Hi-tech and modern, surmised John. Must be how he can watch everything.
> 
> "And guess what? It's all voice-activated! So go ahead. If you think you can honestly shoot me before I say the magic word, you know which one- I'll give you a hint: sound that an explosion makes. Starts with a ' **B** ', ends in an ' **oom!** ' -go ahead."

John lowered his gun. There was too much risk. Too many people's lives on the line. _I've got a plan_. "That's right. Now why don't you drop the gun on the floor. That's right. Now kick it to me."

 

> "John, don't do it!"
> 
> "Well, if it isn't it the cavalry." This time the gun pointed at Martin. Poor, good-hearted Martin.
> 
> "Now what was your name again; Marvin was it?"
> 
> "It's CAPTAIN Martin Crieff! And I'm a man in charge of a plane!"

The man rolled his eyes before abruptly shooting Martin. **BANG!** The gun's loud bang resonated in the empty pool. "Man with gun beats man with plane, any day."

 

> "Martin!" shouted John as he kneeled down.
> 
> "Only a flesh wound," comforted Martin, a wry smile on his face.
> 
> "Yes, John. It's only a flesh wound," mocked the Man. "Now, ooh! It looks like your friends have come to play. Excuse me as I prepare my big speech." John couldn't hear what he was saying, solely focused on Martin and all that blood. There was so much blood.
> 
> "Uup, uup, uup. Naughty Lestrade, you shouldn't do that.Weell, you could. No skin off my nose. Though, I suppose that the government would frown on that sort of thing-killing a hostage is kind of a big no-no isn't it? Tut-tut. Did you honestly think that you could call for back-up? You could try, but um…they're all a bit preoccupied with their own hostage. How very sad. A-and look, the p-poor m…man is crying noww. Boo hoo. Might just have to blow something up to get him to stop. No? You're going to stop crying now? Well, what say you Lest-".

The man's voice quickly cut off. John snapped his head turning his focus to the man. Or what used to be a man. Instead lying there on the cold floor was a corpse, his head smashed in with a huge block, his glasses broken into tiny shards. _There was this thing, at Douglas' daughters birthday, where the candy heated up, then melted together and then froze again. Well see, there's a bunch from Arthur left on that plane, don't ask what for, and we can use it. We can use it! Sally can pinpoint my position. And Douglas, he'll drop the candy like a missile on my signal. You just have to trust me. Do you trust me?  
_

 

> "Hey John..." John looked down at Martin. 
> 
> "Yes Martin?..." John was careful not to jostle Martin's head in his lap.
> 
> "Sorry about the rushing in p-" Martin let out a wince. "p-part. I, god, I've never done this before. And I, I saw the gun. And, and..."
> 
> "Shut up. Don't talk. I'm going to get an ambulance here. You did good. You, you did good Martin." John heaved a huge breath that he was keeping inside.
> 
> "Yeah?"
> 
> "Yeah," answered John, kissing Martin.

* * *

 

> "And then what happened Skip?" asked Arthur enthusiastically from his bed. His color had returned and he seemed as limber as ever, moving around as he got more enraptured in the story.
> 
> "Well, I saved the day of course!"
> 
> "Yes, never mind the man actually flying the plane or the dozens of police officers that helped the hostages. "
> 
> "Yes, I know Douglas. We're all very grateful. But I was the one who came swooping in. This is a battle scar," said Martin, pointing at his bandaged wound.
> 
> "Oh boo-hoo. Did baby want a band-aid? Even Arthur's got a bigger scar than you. And besides you could have avoided it if you didn't annoy the mass murderer. Although I suppose for you that'd be impossible. And Arthur, you've heard the story over 10 times."
> 
> "All right that's enough out of you boys," exclaimed Carolyn as she entered their hospital room. 
> 
> "And where have you been? Aren't you suppose to be in bed?" asked Douglas tutting.
> 
> "Oh don't give me that. The bunch of you sitting around like a bunch of laze-abouts. I'm young. I'm virile. I've got pudding," Carolyn said throwing a pudding cup in the air and catching it in one hand.
> 
> "Ooh. Can I have one mum?"
> 
> "No. Sick children need things like soup, not sweets. Besides don't think I don't know about the pile of candy you left on the plane. Any how, I think I deserve it."
> 
> "Aw, but mum," whined Arthur.
> 
> "No but's about it," interrupted Carolyn, peeling back the foil lid.
> 
> "Say, Carolyn, where'd you get that anyways? They've already given us our dinner," asked Martin narrowing his eyes.
> 
> "The room next door," answered Carolyn unashamedly. "What? Stop looking at me like that. It's not like she's going to eat it. She's in a coma."
> 
> "Well, that's my cue to go," said Douglas. "Wouldn't want to be involved in a conspiracy of pudding-pilfering."
> 
> "And where are you off to Douglas?" asked Arthur.
> 
> "I'm off on a date with that Sally woman from the police department."
> 
> "What?!" exclaimed Martin. "But she's in love with someone else."
> 
> "Oh don't you know. They broke it off two weeks ago. Shows what you know."
> 
> "Yes because staying in the hospital is totally my fault."
> 
> "Then we're agreed. It's your fault. Ta-ta!" said Douglas cheerfully for the first time in a very long time, leaving the other three to rest.

Martin settled in his bed, ready to doze off, when he heard Arthur whispering (or what he considered whispering for Arthur).

 

> "PST. Pst! Skipper!"
> 
> "What is it Arthur?" asked Martin annoyed.
> 
> "I'm glad everything turned out ok."Martin looked over to Arthur's what-could-only-be-described-as-maniacal grin and whispered back, "Me too."

That night Martin dreamed of a flat addressed 221 B Baker Street. He dreamed of a fireplace and a short man whose very presence confounded his senses. He dreamed of all his old friends and new friends. For the first night ever in his entire life, he didn't dream of flying. But to him, it still felt like it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part, in the hospital is supposed to take place a few weeks after the pool scene. Douglas has divorced his cheating wife. And Sally despite being in love with Anderson, was through with the affair, as it grew complicated, and he'd never leave his wife. I want to thank you all for reading this. Sorry, I haven't updated in forever. I lacked inspiration and work ethic. Hopefully you enjoy it.


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